On my birthday, I made myself a little knapsack picnic, wrapped it in a red checkered handkerchief, tied it on a stick and walked to a big old windmill with the wind at my back. After a long walk and a well deserved treat I made my way inside, which is where I found a poem stapled to one of the old beams.
Forlon, I stand, and desolate.
Telling of other days
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When my sweeps revolved to the song of the wind,
Grinding the wheat and the maize.
From the hillside o'erlooking the sea
I watch the ships go by
While children gambol around my walls
And lovers whisper and sigh !
Gay Youth, reaching out to a future
Of laughter--ay, and of tears,
While I stand alone with a thousand dreams
Linking the bygone years.
As I stood, looking upon the words, my reflection calmly looked back at me through the light sheen of the laminate.
I love this poem about a boomer windmill with a thick accent talking about the good old days and how silly the kids these days are.
(This post has nothing to do with my birthday I just used that to trojan-horse the grumpy windmill into my feed nyeheheheheh >:))
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